


Eternal Night

by MortimerBadger



Category: Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guilt, Regret, The Author Regrets Nothing, but characters in the plot certainly regret a LOT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortimerBadger/pseuds/MortimerBadger
Summary: This was not how it was supposed to end.This was not the Eternal Night he was promised.But Fate can be cruel, and things do not always go to plan. And a blinded Warlord still has his teeth.





	1. Judgement

He should have known he’d end up back in the dark. Darkness was what birthed him into this world, Darkness was what he ruled, and now Darkness was all he knew for certain.

It was Darkness that he silently clung to as all around him roared a chorus of anger and fury. He could hardly hear anything over the outrage- the demands for his blood, the demands for his head. Had he not been focusing solely on the faint metallic clicks of the chains that now bound him, he figured there would be quite an array of execution options on display. But it was all nothing more than a rage fueled white noise as he was brought to his knees by massive hands.

Krubera, he assumed. He would recognize this strength anywhere. Once they caught on to their queen’s treachery, most turned their back on the Dark Underlord. It would only make sense for some to choose to follow Trollmarket to their new home. Now they kept him practically on a metal leash as he “faced” the judgment of a quickly cobbled together tribunal- no doubt the previous had been torn apart by the cowardice of some, the betrayal of others, and the death of the rest in the midst of Gunmar’s attack.

His blood boiled into a rage the instant his knees hit the cold ground. As the crowd continued to celebrate their foes’ defeat and demand he pay for his unspeakable crimes, all he could do in response to it was roar in defiance and struggle in his confines. The heavy chains would not give, nor would the Krubera keeping him on his knees, and after a sharp tug to his his chains’ lead connected to the shackle clamped tightly around his neck nigh almost choked him there was nothing he could do but give in and save his strength. The chains nor the Krubera would not stop him from speaking, however.

“I will not cower before you or any other troll!” He spat, not expecting it to land at this tribunal’s feet but knowing his intent was clear.

The voices around him grew louder in response to his words and action, echoing and mingling into a frantic outcry of vengeance and murder that even he could no longer endure. Without hesitation he tried to stand and demand the respect and fear he deserved. Like his previous roar, however, it would be short lived. Before he could utter any true threats to the crowd he could feel the arms of the Krubera and the tug on the chains force him back and then down to his lowered position.

His teeth gnashed at the humiliation of this so called “trial.” To be blinded and now forced to _kneel_ before _Blinkous Galadrigal_ of all trolls, and whoever else took part of the new Tribunal, was nothing short of mockery. This was more an event for the citizens of Trollmarket to cry out their frustrations and furies at him more than it was deciding his fate.

This was not how things were meant to happen. He was meant to stand triumphant in the Eternal Night. Gunmar promised _victory._

Now here he knelt: blind, restrained, and held back in chains and shackles like an _animal_ \- expected to accept defeat and throw himself to the mercy of his captors. His face remained hard as the voices of the Tribunal read him his charges. He would not give them that satisfaction.

They could not kill him. Even if it was what the crowd wanted more than anything else, killing him now would make the act empty and hollow. His life had already been spared this long, and as bitter as the thought was to him to think about, for them it would be pointless to just decide to kill him now. It was likely they wouldn’t exile him either. Neither the crowd nor the Tribunal wanted to simply abandon him and forget about him. And without his sight he’d be forced to wander aimlessly without aid, left to fate to decide his bitter end, and potentially risk everything they fought so hard to protect.

A growl rumbled in his chest as the options were discussed and his face tightened harder. They were all hypocrites and cowards. Every last one of them. Had the positions been reversed, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all. Yet there they bickered, unsure what they felt would be a “moral” and “right” punishment for the likes of him. He felt the eyes of the crowd on him. He wondered for a brief moment if eventually they would be unable to control themselves and make the decision for the Tribunal on their own. He quietly scoffed. It would be a more fitting death. Bloody. Cold. Heartless. An army of Trolls acting out as they were created to act. Not the soft stoned cowards they had become.

They would not get the chance. Before long the tribunal had come to a decision, and the crowd was not pleased with the result. In fact their outcries from before broke into a riotous state. If he could see the events as his guards yanked him up to his feet and his chains pulled tight by the lead, he imagined more Krubera holding back the trolls that began to climb over their seats and drop through the gaps in attempts to reach him in the arena turned courtroom. A pity they wouldn’t get the chance to have their revenge. He would have liked to see them try.

A shame, really.

His shackles were replaced with heavier restraints- simple cuffs on his wrists became solid metal restraints his arms had to be forced into before being closed shut, and similar ones clamped onto his legs. He could hear the rattle of chains as he instinctively adjusted to the new sensations and ran a hand over one of the new shackles. From his Elbow to his wrists his arms were completely encased in restraints, most likely with chains attached. He heard the Krubera back away as a lighter figure stepped forward. One breath of air told him all he needed to know about this figure. The faint musk of a human den, the still present smell of human blood flowing in his veins under that fake stone skin, the growl under his breath trying to mimic his own intimidation tactics when he came close but the voice still clearly belonging to the same foolish boy that ventured into the Darklands alone.

He had to have been the one relentlessly tugging at his chains’ lead during the so called trial. How easy it would be now to strike when the shackle around his neck was removed and he was no longer bound in their confines. But then again… without his sight he wouldn’t get far, especially if he was chained to the floor as he suspected. Even though he could easily lunge forward in this moment and tear the boy’s throat open with his teeth, he would wait. His time to strike would come eventually, but not now. He could feel the Trollhunter’s eyes locked on him, watching his every move, but still he would not strike- even when the shackle around his neck was taken and he was free to move his head any way he so wished for a time.

Now was not the time,even as fury burned red hot in his chest.

The previous Shackle would be replaced with a heavier one. And judging by the metallic clicks he had grown accustomed to hearing, it had connections to the shackles on his arms. The boy took a step back, he assumed, and figured his eyes were locked on what remained of his face, before the Trollhunter spoke.

“Drop them.”

He could hear the groans of Krubera, paired with the grinding of stone, before it was all replaced with the frantic metallic rattling of chains he had grown accustomed to hearing. Before he could even turn his head to try to shape the scene in his head, the shackles on his arms tightened and pulled his arms apart with painful efficiency. He choked out a gasp in reaction to the agony of it all, and in moments crumbled under the weight. In moments he was back down on his knees, tail slamming onto the ground as his only means to brace the pain. His torso felt like it was going to split in two, if not that, than surely at any moment his arms would soon rip off, but the action never came. His chest heaved as he tried catching his breath. Hunched over and heaving, he dared to let out one last comment of defiance.

“Do you intend to tear me apart limb by limb, Fleshchild?”

“No.” The boy’s voice was cold, and followed with trailing off footsteps. His captors were leaving. “I intend for you to stay put. _For good_.”

He growled, pain subsiding but weight keeping him in his position for now. If he hadn’t lost his sight, if he hadn’t lost his grip on that rooftop…

“ **Gunmar the Black** ,” the voice of Blinkous Galadrigal was unmistakable.

Gunmar roared and pulled at his chains for only a moment before the heavy weights at the end of his restraints forced them back into their outstretched position. He heard the slam of a metal cage door, followed by the faint clink of keys locking it shut.

The so called leader of Trollmarket did not waver in announcing the Dark Underlord’s fate: “you have been sentenced to a life time of imprisonment. You will find we have taken your every need into consideration, and have decided you are unworthy of the _vast majority_. May you live out the rest of your miserable existence here in bitter isolation.”

The blinded Dark Underlord thrashed against his restraints as the footsteps of his captors receded to silence. He snarled and weighed his options as he tried to rise back to his feet. It was doable, but recalling the pain from earlier Gunmar knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. He groaned in frustration and returned back to the lower position, deciding sitting would be better for his strength for now. Who knew if they would keep him alive, or just expected him to waste away in this chamber he assumed they set up just for him. He would have to keep as much of his strength as he could muster if he was ever going to escape and get his revenge.

He _would_ escape, of course.

Gunmar hummed to himself a moment, mind already at work. This was only a set back. He would achieve his goals one way or another. He saw now that it was foolish to look to magic to solve his problems. The Pale Lady was nothing but a failed cause at this point. A dead end Pawn that he was better off forgetting. Sooner or later he’d come up with the means to escape. But for now, as he sat alone in his prison chamber, Gunmar would take a moment to amuse his already active mind with thoughts of the fake Trollhunter’s throat crushed in his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! thanks for checking out the AU! I've been picking at it for a while now (since Trollhunters Season 3) and it's finally official! The perspective is going to shift from chapter to chapter, and things will become more clear as it goes on, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the angst.


	2. Solitude

Who could say how many days and nights passed since his "trial." Gunmar assumed it had been a week or so- the drone of the far off market had it’s understandable fade in activity as most would adjourn to their homes for rest. If anything, he had come to measure time by the exchange of guards and the handfuls of Trollmarket residents that had no shame in coming to mock and belittle the Warlord. The kind that couldn't fear what beast they taunted while he was muzzled. Often he would be on the verge of the strain caused by the weights drifting him off into exhaustion when they would arrive.

They would be first to die when he escaped, Gunmar decided.

Gunmar was about to slip into that deeper dark, the bitter yet comforting embrace of unconsciousness, when the sound of approaching footsteps snapped him back to attention. He silently braced himself for the renewed mockery, perhaps even the guards he heard often mulling over if the Eclipse Blade was truly the only weapon that could kill him finally coming to test their theory, but neither came. Just a heavy, but lighter than most trolls, footstep that came with a muffled clang of metal. Fortunately that meant it was neither his so called " _faithful"_ guard, nor the usual crowd come to view the Underlord like he was some sideshow beast. For a very brief moment, he wondered if it was in fact yet another of his army hunted down and brought here to be imprisoned with the others, but they wouldn't send someone like that down here alone.

A tense silence began to form as he tried to hear when and where the next sound would come and where it was currently coming from, and reason with himself what it was or wasn't, when the gate to his prison chamber suddenly was unlocked and opened. His brows began to furrow, confusion setting in, but then that all too familiar scent floated in. _The fleshchild in troll clothing._ Gunmar growled through grit teeth as he rose to his feet, all the pieces falling into place. He refused to kneel, especially not before the boy. Unfortunately, the weights made standing for long almost unbearable, and soon he was crumbling back on the floor. Gunmar huffed angrily.

“What a _delight_. The mighty Trollhunter come to grace me with his presence again at last. Finally here to finish me off, boy? Or perhaps boast your victory over me as others have?”

* * *

 

“.....No.” Jim hesitated, unsure as he looked down at the plate of cat meat he had brought for Gunmar. He wasn’t really sure why he thought this would be a good idea. He didn’t _have_ to show Gunmar kindness. He really didn’t. In fact he probably shouldn’t. Yet there he was. “It’s… been a while since you’ve eaten. And I thought….”

What remained of Gunmar’s left eye widened for a moment before he laughed darkly. Jim’s grip tightened on the plate as he stiffened. How he used to fear that eye, now it’s milky white haze haunted him in a whole new way. Even on his knees, Gunmar still easily dwarfed him.

“So it’s _tribute_ he offers! Tell me, dear Trollhunter, _how exactly do you expect me to eat it?_ ”

A rock formed in the Trollhunter’s stomach as Gunmar’s words set in. He hadn’t thought of that. Too late to back down now though, he reminded himself, as Jim simply sat the plate on the floor at his feet.

“You’re smart. You can figure it out.” Jim took a few steps away and folded his arms, doing his best to not to show how uncomfortable he was. “you’re lucky I brought you anything at all.”

“I survived for a thousand years in the Darklands, Fleshchild,” Gunmar sneered, leaning forward a bit to smell and then scoff at the offered plate of cat meat, “on nothing but what scraps the realm provided and a dying heartstone. I can survive a thousand more without your _pity_.”

Jim’s ears pricked back as Gunmar paused. A sense of dread set back in as Gunmar’s “gaze” slowly came up to meet with the Trollhunter’s.

“..... And just _why_ have you brought me this? Hm? Would it not be simpler to leave me here to rot? I doubt anyone would judge you for it.”

Jim thought hard about his answer. Why _was_ he doing this? After a brief pause Gunmar simply snuffed, swatting the cat meat tray away with his tail, a hard glare from that blinded eye cemented on his face. He had his answer.

“Go away, boy. Leave me to the isolation you so _graciously_ let me live.”

Jim felt his anger rising. He crouched down and picked up the meat scraps, fur bristling on his neck, setting them back onto the tray and then standing back up to leave.

“Fine. Be that way, then. But I’m leaving the meat here whether you want me to or not,” Jim grumbled, turning his back to him and arms folded again. “Don’t like it? Then enjoy the smell of rotten cat meat. It's more than you deserve.”

Jim didn’t look back as he left Gunmar’s prison chamber, but the instant he knew he was out of sight of everyone that could judge him he could not help but bring his hands up to his weary face and groan as he ran them down. _Why_ did he think that conversation was going to turn out differently than it did? He was _Gunmar the Black_. The troll that had vowed an ocean of blood and the deaths of everyone Jim cared for! Leaving that dark place and rising back up the spiraled steps into the bright market didn’t bring as much comfort as he’d hoped it would, either. His right hand rose back up to his face and massaged his brow as he mulled over his thoughts.

Sparing Gunmar… was the right decision. It _had_ to be.

Jim sighed and looked across the crowd of Market citizens. Life had returned to normal for pretty much everyone _except_ for Jim, it seemed. There was still a brawl from time to time, the last few scattered Gumm-gumms on the surface not present during the Eternal Night to find, and minimal problems to be solved, but with Gunmar finally out of the way? Life seemed to have gone on without a hitch for everyone else as if their most hated and feared enemy _wasn't_ right under their feet in the extensive prison chambers set for the Underlord and his army. Jim wasn't on high alert for an escape or anything, but a day hadn't gone by since finally finding a new home here that he hadn't thought about the risk. It was probably that fear that kept him stuck in his armor.

Jim shook his head before his mind could wander around that decision. He should just head home and relax. Gunmar would still be in his prison chamber tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. Besides, if anyone could clear up his thoughts, it’d be Claire. Right now she felt like the perfect person to talk to.

After a moment's pause of scanning the crowd to figure where the flow of people were going, Jim set off- heart leading him through back to the cozy den that felt so familiar but so different from the one back in Arcadia. When they first arrived, someone had suggested Blinkous take refuge in the New Jersey Heartstone as Vendel had done back in Arcadia, but he humbly declined.

" _A librarian's life is incomplete without the comforts of his Library!"_  He would say.

Looking over the quiet den he, Blinky, and Claire now called home, complete with Claire in PJ's reading on the nearby couch, Jim was rather grateful for that decision. Jim collapsed face first onto the couch before Claire even fully realized he was there. Claire laughed at the display, and casually pat his head.

“hey there, big guy,” Jim couldn’t hep but purr as she ran her fingers through his mane, “any luck on getting the armor off?”

“Nnnnnope.”

“Rough day too?”

“Yep.”

Jim rolled over and closed his eyes with a defeated sigh, dropping his head in Claire's lap. What he'd give to be in comfortable clothes right now. He missed his blue hoodie so much. Claire tsked and brushed some of his fur out of his face.

“Don’t worry, sooner or later the armor will come off. You’ll see.” Claire gave Jim’s forehead a quick kiss before returning to her reading- a spell book of sorts from the looks of it. “Although, if you want to hear about it, I’ve been researching a bit and might have a new lead.”

Jim was quiet for a minute, words on the tip of his tongue. He knew he could be open with her about anything now of days, but man was it still hard from time to time. Then again... she wouldn't have come all the way with him to New Jersey Trollmarket, Gunmar in chains and constantly at an attacking distance for weeks on end, if she didn't trust his choice in the matter.

“Maybe later....but uh... Claire?”

Claire closed her book slightly, holding her place with one hand while he reached up and held the other.

Jim's voice was quiet as he finally asked, “Do you think… I did the right thing? Sparing Gunmar?”

“Oh Jim,” Claire’s face softened as she let his hand go and cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “ _Of course_. What’s brought this back up?”

“I uh…” Jim licked his lips. Claire wouldn’t judge his choice, but saying it out loud was still hard to admit. “I went down to his Prison Chamber today. For whatever reason I figured that… you know. He hasn’t eaten since the Eternal Night and... I guess I thought that just maybe-””

Jim’s voice faded off. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Claire’s eyes. His eyes simply drifted off to look around the library while Claire continued running her fingers through his mane. He sighed when her hand took his once more- a quiet show of support both of them knew well by now. Claire always knew what he was thinking now of days. Jim looked back up to face her and saw only understanding and compassion looking back at him, quietly hoping he'd go on.

“Maybe I could somehow reach him, you know? I didn't think he'd welcome me with open arms or anything but...”

Claire gently shook her head and smiled gently at him. “Always looking out for others..... Jim, sparing Gunmar then and trying to be kind to him now are hard choices to make, but they  _are_ the right ones. I don’t think he’ll ever accept it, but leaving him there all alone would be wrong- even _if_ that’s technically what the Tribunal sentenced him to.”

Jim slowly nodded and closed his eyes, weight momentarily lifted from his shoulders. She was right and, for a moment, the doubt was gone and it was only the two of them. No slowly rebuilding market to care about, no Dark Underlords lurking in the prisoners’ underbelly, just him and her. Claire smiled warmly and returned to her reading, still holding his hand and now gently humming. No matter what happened, they still had each other.

“Hey Claire?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too."

Jim's smile widened slightly before he opened and eye to peek back up at her, mischief in his eye. "Think later we can video call Toby and see how things are going in Arcadia?"

Claire looked down, giving him an equally mischievous look. "You sure you don't want to call just to keep Blinky out of our hair for a while when AAARRRGGHH! inevitably asks if they can talk?"

Laughter filled the library den. It wasn't much, but for them it was home. Jim sat up and leaned his head against Claire's, never once letting her hand go as he moved to sit by her. For now, it was just them. And honestly? Jim could live with that.

"So what was this lead you were talking about?"


End file.
